The Crest of Dedication
by TheallknowingandUnseen
Summary: Axel does what he has to for his family. Rated Pg 16 for violence, language, and mature themes.


**A/N**

_I'm re-posting this story after taking it down. I lived in fear of being stereo typical. Now, I'm relying on you, dear reader, to give me your impute to better the story. I have never been to Mexico and am doing research for this story. Please don't hesitate to correct me. _

_This was inspired off of Braking Bad. It is going to be violent. It is probably going to be wholly unrealistic. But, most importantly, it is going to be fun._

_This Story coincides with my other Fanfiction: Watcher on the Sidelines_

_If I have my way, the two stories will mash together in a second book for each: Shatter_

_Please Read and Review both Fanfictions! _

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

**Me**

_If you had a chance to make everything right, everything perfect, would you do it? Of course you would. So don't judge me, and don't think of me as some arrogant prick, justifying his actions. I know I've done some pretty bad things, no some really fucked up things, and for that there is no justification. But I did them anyway. Why?_

_So my Brother and mom can live somewhere where they don't have to worry about the things I do. Like getting shot, having too much, having too little, worrying about the next cock sucker that I gotta kill. But they're safe now, away from all that, thousands of miles away from all that._

_But I can't leave. Ironically, the same thing that allows them to live such a peaceful life is the same reason that I lead such a violent one._

_My Digimon_

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><p>It started with my sister, my lucky, beautiful, meticulous, older sister. She left us, got hitched with a white guy and moved to America. Good for her, but she never came back for us. I guess she just forgot about us or something. She doesn't send money and we don't talk about her. Talk about relatives in America is asking for trouble, and there is plenty of that to go around, you don't gotta ask for it.<p>

So It's just my mom, my little brother and me. Typical story about my dad, drinker, druggie, take your pick because I don't know, and quite honestly don't care. My mom's a Christen, a very devout Christen, believes in the good in people, even when they don't see it themselves. She sees the good in me.

Sweet of her.

My sister does send an occasional picture along with a letter addressing us as if we were strangers. She treats us like people she takes pity on but not enough to do anything for us. Must take after our father. The thing is though, my mom loves those letters. Every time we get one she reads them out loud to us, and presses them to her breast, thanking God for blessing Claudia with such good fortune, never hating her the way I do.

So anyway, when my sister left we lost the income she'd bring in as well. Now my mom and I are the only ones working, but it's not enough, it's never enough, and never will be. We can't have too much, and we can't have too little.

But I was stupid, naïve. I thought if I could just get enough money, we'd be okay. And I got lucky one day. It happened during my lunch break. Sitting out back of McDonald's, I saw a man limp over to the dumpster and drop a very fine leather suitcase inside. He didn't seem to notice me, just quickly hobbled off. I was stupid, but unfortunately not stupid enough to follow him. I waited, waited till five minutes to the end of my break to be sure, but the guy never came back. I glanced back the way he had come and down the alley he'd left though. There was no sign of him, so I barreled through the dumpster and pulled out the suit case and cracked the lock open with a rock. I thought there'd be money, but there wasn't, just a bunch of sacks of cocaine.

I made a noise with my teeth and glanced around again before stuffing as much as I could carry into my shirt, pockets, pants, and other unconventional places and then it was back to work. I made it back home with no one the wiser. So far as I knew anyway.

We live close to the city, where the white tourists flock. The following day I hitched a ride on the back of some farmer's cart to the bus stop and get there before noon.

I had told my mom I'd be out for a while, a few days, got a series of interviews for a scholarship. But I don't. I just have some cocaine and the nerve to sell it at a cheaper price than anyone else is offering.

Stupid.

Stupid.

Stupid.


End file.
